miles to go before i sleep
by Indubitably Cynical
Summary: Jack returns Erica's phone call. Post 2x08.


"_Look, I know today was hard. Will you give me a call when you get this?_"

He listens to her message twenty-six times, even though he has no idea what it is he's searching for in her voice. She sounds the same as she always does, always has, but since he can't see her lips forming the words, he is stuck mentally replaying the vision of her cold eyes communicating explicitly that any promises she might have once made about the value of a single human life have been rendered null and void.

With _that_ foremost in his mind, he chooses to not detect any intention of apologizing in her tone. But it doesn't matter what her intentions are, he shouldn't be ignoring her, even now. _Especially_ now.

Jack is not passive-aggressive and he has been trained to forgive, and he should never have missed her call.

At around four in the morning, he can't postpone setting this right any longer, unreasonable hour be damned.

He calls and she answers.

"Evans," she croaks, which means she's obviously not coherent enough to have checked the caller ID.

He still asks, "hey, were you sleeping?"

"Jack?" He can tell by the weak slur of his name that she was, and is somehow surprised that she can sleep so easily after the day's events. He wonders if he'll ever be cynical enough for this new world.

"I know it isn't courtesy hours, and I'm really sorry for waking—"

"No, no, I'm glad you called." Her voice is practically a whisper, and filled with the slow thickness of sleep. "Just—can you hang on a second?"

"Sure."

He waits for quite a while as sounds of movement travel through the receiver, and he thinks she might be walking down a flight of stairs, which strikes him as odd. When she speaks again, her voice is clearer and more awake. "I was—well, I was really worried when you didn't answer your phone."

Jack sits down on his bed again and doesn't speak immediately, lest he say something he regrets. Finally, "like you said, today was hard."

She sighs audibly. "I didn't want to lie to you, Jack. I've never wanted to lie to you."

_But you did_, he doesn't say. After all, he hasn't called her to punish or to lecture. He's called her because she asked him to. "I know," he says instead.

"I really—look, I really wish we were on the same page. But I can't make speeches about striking at Anna and then falter just because there might be some kind of collateral damage."

He hears an echoed _acceptable collateral_ reverberating through the months and the sacrifices, but he won't blame this on Hobbes. That wouldn't take them anywhere worth going. "This isn't about collateral damage right now," he tells her. "That's a whole other issue, and one that we can talk about when it's relevant. This is about you pretending that twenty-nine innocent deaths won't weigh on your conscience." He takes a deep breath and stops himself. No lecturing. "I know it's your war and your army and I have no right to interfere, but the way you—the way you were today—_it scares me_, Erica."

"It's not just my war. It's yours too, it's everyone's," she sounds a little angry, which isn't what he wanted from this phone call, "and I still want you on my side. I _need_ you on my side." She's calmer after a beat. "I needed you to know that. I needed you to know that I respect what you have to offer and I don't like lying to you."

"Okay." He wants an apology. He wants it so bad it aches, and he knows that she's not going to give it to him. And he can't offer forgiveness until she asks for it.

"I don't want to be ruthless," she continues. "I just want to be effective."

He realizes that his hand is playing with the pages of his Bible and draws it away. "Then I'll try to have faith that you'll be able to live with yourself if you cross some kind of line."

"This can't have anything to do with me and my morals anymore. I won't be Eli Cohn, but I can't be Agent Evans, Tyler's mom, Joe's wife. This has become bigger than four people standing around a basement," and he wishes she didn't sound so agitated

"I guess I can understand that." He doesn't feel any better. He hopes she does.

They sit in silence for an awkwardly long time. He finds himself looking across the basement to Hobbes' empty bed. "Hobbes never came back from his and Sid's beer run," he says, just to end the silence that isn't exactly hostile, but misses amicable by quite a few inches. "Should I be worried, or do you think he can look after himself?"

This time there's something else in the lengthy pause, something that feels almost hesitant. "He's here," she says quietly.

_Oh_.

"Well then I guess I don't have to worry," he manages to choke out, hoping she doesn't hear the emotion in his voice. He feels his heart break for her, because the man she loved is so recently dead and he can't imagine the pain she's in and probably not even aware of if—if _Hobbes_—

"We'll see you in a few hours," she whispers, and he thinks she's closer to apologetic than she's been for their entire conversation, even though this is the last thing he wants or needs an apology for.

"Yeah."

"Thank you so much for calling me back. It—Jack, it really means a lot."

"I'll let you get some sleep," he says flatly.

"You should try to get some too," he hears her sigh again and he wonders. "Good night."

"Bye."

He lets her hang up first, and the phone falls from his limp fingers.

Ten minutes ago he was worried, consumed with the frightful prospect of watching her turn to stone. Now, after thinking about it for a few seconds, after thinking about every single implication behind her literally getting into bed with Hobbes, he realizes he can finally accept that she's going down a road he won't follow. And maybe it's for the best.

That doesn't mean he won't be here for her if she ever wants to come back.


End file.
